


A Real Artist

by dbh_hoe (orphan_account)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, you're insecure and markus makes you feel better uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 19:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/dbh_hoe
Summary: You're insecure about your art style so Markus provides you reassurance.





	A Real Artist

**Author's Note:**

> Anon's request on tumblr: May I have a headcanons or scenario of Markus with an Artist s/o? But she’s insecure about her anime-like artstyle making her not show her art to people… (I’m self conscious of my anime art since I can’t do realism ;-;)

It came to no surprise to anyone that Markus was a fantastic artist. Not only was he blessed with extreme precision due to his android nature, he was also basically THE Carl Manfred’s son. The same artist whom you’d looked up to ever since you were a child. He was essentially the person who got you into art but as you developed your style, you started to believe that if he ever saw what you drew, you would only be a disappointment to him.

Your style was very similar to that of anime. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t do anything realistic or surrealist; you found it hard to call yourself an actual artist since ‘real’ artists painted the _Mona Lisa_ and _The Persistence of Memory._

You felt that just because you could only draw cartoonish anime characters, you weren’t worthy of people’s attention. Thus, you eventually locked away everything art-related you owned into a large chest and left it to collect dust in your attic.

As years went by, you slowly forgot about your passion and just lived an average life. At least, it was average until you met Markus and fell utterly in love with him. It was a slow, uphill process since he was, y’know, the leader of the android peaceful protest. That, however, is a story for another day.

After the androids had successfully protested their way into achieving equal rights, Markus and you decided to settle down together. He’d invited you to move in with him into his old home — Carl Manfred’s very own mansion.

“Oh gosh, no, I can’t!” you very quickly declined his offer, “I don’t want to just intrude on his life like that.”

“(Y/N), it’s okay,” Markus replied as he placed a hand on your shoulder gently, “I talk to him a lot about you. Carl doesn’t mind the three of us living together at all. He even thinks that it’ll be nice having someone else around.”

You were still slightly hesitant however, Markus looked so hopeful you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

That was how, one week later, you found yourself looking through your old drawings. It was the day you were supposed to finish up packing some last minute stuff for the move. You’d decided to look around the attic for a few minutes in case there was something you’d missed and just happened to see the chest. It was extremely dusty and you almost left it untouched but, for some reason, you felt compelled to see your old art pieces again.

For almost an hour you sifted through old drawings and sketches that you’d never shown to anyone else. Some of them were so old they had even started to turn yellow.

As you flipped through tens of pages worth of art, you felt a yearning in your chest. One you haven’t experienced in a long while. It was almost painful, how strongly you felt that you needed to start drawing again; but no matter how much you desired it, your self-consciousness stopped you. It had crept back into you without your acknowledgement and before you knew it, you’d begun to toss your things haphazardly back into the chest. It didn’t matter that you felt like you were drowning and that the only way you could breathe again was to draw, at that point, you were more afraid of what people said behind your back than of drowning.

“(Y/N)?” You froze, the last of your sketchbooks was still in your hand, midway through the process of being locked away for good. You turned around and smiled awkwardly at your boyfriend, hiding the sketchbook conspicuously behind you. Markus raised an eyebrow before closing the attic door behind him.

“Is that yours?” He asked, his mismatched eyes twinkled curiously.

Knowing you it was impossible to hide it from him anymore, you simply sighed and nodded before pulling the sketchbook out from behind your back. Your eyes fell down to your crossed legs as you held it up for him to take. Noticing your sudden drop in mood, though, Markus didn’t take the book from your hands. Instead, he sat down in front of you and held your cheek in one of his hands. He tilted your head up to look at him and asked worriedly, “why are you upset, my dear?”

You placed the sketchbook down on the floor beside you as you felt your heart ache and your eyes tear up. Markus’s eyebrows knitted together in worry.

“I want to draw again so badly,” you admitted finally, feeling a single tear roll down your cheek, “but I hate the way I draw.”

He wiped your tear away before resting his forehead against yours, “but why?”

“It’s so childish and lame,” you sniffled, “I feel like I can’t call myself an artist.”

“May I look at your work?” Markus requested, his voice was gentle and kind; it reminded you that he was someone you trusted with your life. So, you nodded.”

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose before pulling away to flip through your sketchbook. As he did, you felt your heart race with anxiety, it was almost painful how fast it was beating.

Markus’s expression remained neutral as he glanced through each and every one of your drawings. Occasionally, you felt like snatching it out of his hands before burning it to ash but you held back, remembering that he was the person you loved and trusted deeply.

“(Y/N),” he said after a while as he looked up from the pages of the book, “they’re all amazing.”

“… What?” You honestly couldn’t believe your ears. Markus, who was capable of painting perfect pieces of art, had just called your lame drawings amazing.

“Babe, these are so beautiful, I can’t believe you never showed them to me!” He was smiling from ear-to-ear, “how could you ever possibly believe that these are childish or lame?”

“I just… I always thought real artists didn’t draw stuff like that,” you admitted, realising how odd it was hearing yourself say it out loud for the first time.

“(Y/N), you are a real artist, no matter what kind of art you do.”

Noticing how your eyes had trailed back to staring at the dusty floor, Markus carefully placed the sketchbook back on the ground before pulling you into a comforting hug.

You returned it gratefully as you found solace in his embrace.

“Don’t ever be ashamed of what you love to do,” he said as he kissed your temple lovingly, “okay?”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr @dbhimagines-yo on 26th July 2018 :)


End file.
